


A Les Mis Character Study

by mangotangerine



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Character Study, Gen, Les Amis de l'ABC - Freeform, M/M, Mental Illness, exploring personalities, not romantic - Freeform, yet - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-21
Updated: 2015-01-23
Packaged: 2018-03-08 12:15:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 3,488
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3208784
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mangotangerine/pseuds/mangotangerine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Exploring the personalities of Les Amis and Company, practicing writing style. I think it's kind of cool. You should read it. Mentions of Spock and Net Neutrality.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Courfeyrac

**Author's Note:**

> Like the summary says, some character studies, exploring writing style as it's been a while since I've written fiction... too many papers on international politics and China will do that to you. More characters to come, possibly, and probably exploring romance and smut eventually. Who knows.

Courfeyrac has been in love with life for as long as he can remember. Not just living it, but life in general. To him, life is sacred. He’s contemplated becoming Buddhist, but the rituals and dedication needed to really follow that lifestyle is too much for him. Respecting all life, respecting all people, doing the practice of right action and seeking to help, and avoiding harming life, is kind of how he’s always been. He hasn’t really thought of it consciously, though, until recently. Sort of like an epiphany after taking a class on spirituality and death and dying and Buddhism.

One of his first memories is squatting down in front of an ant hill, just watching. He wondered about their lives. Anthropomorphizing is natural, and he was young so he didn’t quite understand the concept that ants didn’t have human thoughts and human emotions, so he cared for them. Even now that he knows, he cares for them. He gets some teasing for it, but at least his best friends understand. Enjolras, on an intellectual basis, and Combeferre, who shares the same fascination for life and respect but not the deep spiritual connection that Courfeyrac feels.

Every day, walking to first grade or kindergarten or whatever (he can’t really remember, only that he was young and on his way to school), and walking back, he would stop by that ant hill just to watch them scurry along, finding things to bring back to their hill and home. He vaguely remembers seeing a movie called Antz around the same time, which just made him like them even more.

  
He also remembers, quite vividly, walking past them in the morning, greeting them, and walking back to find the hill smashed and the ants squished. Some of them twitching on the sidewalk. He remembers crying. He remembers that feeling of devastation. He remembers learning something in high school about how memories of pain last longer and are much sharper than memories of happiness. He still feels sad when he thinks about this memory.

He held an ant funeral, or whatever approximation of a funeral a 5 or 6 or 7 year old could manage. He remembers crying through it, and then telling his mother about what happened, tearfully. She didn’t really understand, but she comforted him anyway.

  
Courfeyrac, 20 and full of life, stops by an ant hill on his way to class. He smiles, squatting down to watch them with the same fascination he had when he was a kid. One or two climb onto his shoe, he finds a leaf to scoop them up and deposit them back into the grass next to the sidewalk.

“I wish I could keep you safe,” he says quietly. “Have a good day!”

Maybe it’s weird to wish ants a good day. He carefully walks away from the ants, looking down to make sure he doesn’t step on them.

Nobody really understands, and even though his friends sometimes tease him, he knows it’s not out of malice. They know he’s the fraternité to egalité and liberté, and even though fraternité is meant to be a philosophy of love and solidarity between humans, he knows it’s also important to love and respect all life. He may not be Christian, or even religious, but he believes in the concept that humans are the stewards of the earth, and the earth means all life – plants, animals, humans.


	2. Combeferre

Liberty, equality, fraternity, reason. The reason part wasn’t part of the particular motto that they’ve taken from the French as inspiration, but it was part of the Revolution and something important in life anyway. He’s become a philosopher, of sorts. A scientist type that respects reason and logic but also understands there isn’t a black and white, right and wrong thing in life. Concepts, maybe—respect for fellow man (and woman, and all other genders, and anything or things anyone identifies as or with), universal freedoms and equalities, but as for the actual practical application, or understanding of the complicated, philosophical underpinnings, well. He’s always loved discussing and thinking about and learning more about the different ways different people and cultures have thought about these things throughout times and now, in the 21st century. It feels kind of arrogant to call himself a “21st century philosopher”, but essentially that’s what he is. He doesn’t like to label himself.

Right now, he’s a student. A student and a volunteer and, as Courfeyrac would say, a “steward of the Earth” even though he leans more towards working with and thinking about humanity in regards to egalitarianism, rather than the universal application of equality and reverence towards _all_ life.

Anyway. He’s embraced being the one to cover equality, but also worked reason into his arguments and personal life motto. He has a poster of Spock on his wall. A deeply emotional and complex character, choosing to be governed by logic and reason, constantly practicing and meditating in order to maintain his ability to see reason even in moments where others would be overcome with emotion. He’s always identified with that.

Some people have called him emotionless, or boring, but it’s just that he’s so wrapped up in studying and meditating on concepts, on remaining true to reason and logic, and working toward his goals to a better life, that he forgets about the innate emotional and social nature of humans. Boring maybe because he loves computers and mathematics and has a weird fascination with moths and spiders and snakes and things that others are afraid of or dislike. Why are these things scary or disturbing? Is it social conditioning? Is it an innate response, deep within the human psyche? He’ll probably never know, but it’s still something he loves to think about.

His friends value his ability to temper the emotional nature of Courfeyrac, and the intensity of Enjolras, and they understand that sometimes he lets his emotions get the best of him and loses his temper. It’s something he works to keep under control, but sometimes people are so stubborn and _refuse_ to try to understand and there’s nothing that pisses him off more than willful ignorance.

Sometimes humans fucking suck, and it should piss everyone off.

He has to remind himself that equality is important and if people are allowed to decide that some people deserve more equality than others, then nobody ends up with equality.

He retreats into his physics and calculus and philosophical contemplation about life on other planets and how cool space is when he gets caught up in not really liking humanity that day.

His friends understand.

Courfeyrac understands more than anyone, but Enjolras empathizes deeply.

Really, they are the inspiration for his constant dedication to equality and reason, and the driving force between exploring their relation to freedom and brotherhood, and studying it. He wouldn’t be who he is without them.


	3. Enjolras

Enjolras seeks to understand, seeks to welcome others into the fold, to teach them and try to practice Courfeyrac’s love and understanding. He gets caught up in passion and ideas and fighting for his beliefs that sometimes he is a danger to himself and others, but he is always tempered by equality and reason and love and brotherhood.

He picks up different passions here and there. Things he identifies with, things that are, in his mind, universally important for there to really be freedom and equality and everything else. Net neutrality. Technological, electronic privacy. Feminism. LGBTQ+ rights. Mental health awareness and attempt to remove stigma and misunderstanding. Things that affect him personally, so far. Things that affect _everyone_ , really. Just… sometimes people didn’t understand. Yet.

So he uses his silver tongue, his gift for storytelling and ability to weave words into emotional speeches to inspire others who might otherwise be uninformed and uninterested and unmotivated. Often, he gets enthusiastic initial responses, but nothing really substantial done. It is disheartening. But he reminds himself that he can’t rush the growth of a tree after planting seeds.

He uses his beauty, too. He’s not oblivious to his looks. People like pretty people and listen to pretty people more often than not. Sometimes he has to play down his natural femininity, which he resents having to do, to a degree. It’s something he likes about himself, the androgyny. Oh well. Can’t please everyone.

It’s when he gets dismissed that he gets the angriest. His passion turns into disgust and fury and he can use his words to slit throats and cut people down and break bones and stab peoples’ hearts. This is a part of himself that he _hates_.

It disappoints his friends, but most of all, it disappoints _him_. He seeks to embody liberty, but also fraternity and equality, because you need all three. Triangles are the most stable shape, right? He’s not sure. Maybe he heard Combeferre say something like that. He didn’t pay much attention in geometry. Is it geometry? Oh well, no matter, his strength is in words and persuasion.

Which is why it’s kind of weird that face-to-face, one-on-one, he can be rather awkward, or anxious. He is smart, he _knows_ what he wants to say, but even though he has the profound ability to turn words into actions, he thinks in pictures and ideas and it can be difficult to translate that into speech on the fly.

He’s _especially_ nervous when it comes to talking to boys. He is passionate about liberty and human rights but he also has a… _passion_ … for men. He tries to not let it distract him. He rationalizes that it’s ok to watch from afar, but people notice and talk to him and it’s awkward to turn them down (he needs to focus on his convictions and life purpose and mission in the world), awkward to try to flirt back (social mores regarding flirting and romance are sometimes rather foreign to him), awkward when confronted by affection.

He loves his own passion, loves passion in others, but has a strange need to convince the inconvincible, to convert the pessimistic.

More than anyone, there is someone in his circle of friends that he has no idea how to approach or talk to or socialize with and he comes across in ways he doesn’t mean to, but, how can he explain that he’s kind of scared and unsure when he exudes confidence on stage.

People are complicated. He fights for their freedom and loves them, on an intellectual level. It took him a long time to become close to Courfeyrac and Combeferre, and to become comfortable with them. He wants to be comfortable with that certain someone, with that sharp tongue and unconventional looks but damn, the path to that is foreign to him.

Oh well. He needs to focus on his plans to change the world for better. One person at a time. He kind of wants to start with Grantaire…


	4. Jehan

Jehan Prouvaire cultivates a flower box of dandelions and weeds. It’s not so much that he’s _chosen_ dandelions and weeds, it’s just that they’ve chosen _him_. Who is he to uproot these living things and throw them away, unwanted? Just because they are unconventional doesn’t mean they aren’t valuable.

“Why, though? I mean, you could get _pretty_ flowers, not those ugly weeds,” a fellow student had said to him once. Jehan just frowned.

“ _I_ think they’re beautiful,” he said quietly to the student. “Please go,” he said after a moment, sighing. “You’re insulting them.”

“Whatever, freak.”

Jehan shrugged. Freak wasn’t the worst he had been called, and really, it was kind of something he wore as a badge of honor. Jehan Prouvaire, lover of dandelions and weeds, pacifist to the max, most awkward human being on earth, ultimate freak.

For a long time, he didn’t have much in common with other people. Well, nothing in common on the deeper level. He could find other people that liked Hitchcock films or Asian ghost films or studying ancient literature and poetry in Greek and Hebrew and French and German, folk music from Africa and India and China and Mongolia, things like that. Surface things. It’s easy to find people who like similar things, relatively speaking.

It took him about 20 years to find another person who truly, deeply understood why he kept a flower box of dandelions and weeds, why he refused to crush spiders and had to go to the hospital once because of it. Someone who could talk about death and dying without getting disturbed, who was just as fascinated with the beyond or emptiness of death or whatever came _after_. Courfeyrac was a soul brother.

It also took him 20 years to find someone who could stay up all night, watching the stars, talking about space and physics and the absolute _wonder_ of the world, and religion and the deeply spiritual nature of life and living. Combeferre is a soul brother.

20 years to find somebody who wanted to _fight_. Someone who was sometimes awkward and felt out of place but would give up their life for other people, fighting for the freedoms and equality of people he would never even meet. Someone who could have a conversation about poverty or institutionalized racism or education or slavery for _hours_ , someone he could learn things from with every sentence and whom he could also _teach_ things with every sentence. Enjolras is a soul brother.

20 years to find somebody who could switch from English to French to German to Greek in the blink of an eye, changing topics even quicker, reading ancient texts and contemplating the meaning, studying context and culture and coming up with new interpretations. It was exhilarating, sharing the deep fascination of humanity and life with someone who _understood_ that sometimes English just didn’t have the words he needed to express the depths of his emotions and the complexities of life. Marius is a soul brother.

There were others he met later, he is still learning about them, but he is sure they will also become soul brothers. Somehow, he was lucky enough to stumble into a meeting of people he was so deeply connected to the moment they laid eyes on each other. Pure fate, or destiny, or whatever.

He had been struggling for a few years with deep depression and the pain of loving so strongly, but now he has a foundation to lean on when he cares just a bit too much and can’t handle the emotions, people who also weep for humanity the same as him and don’t judge, don’t tease, just welcome him with a hug and soothing words of wisdom or a call to action.

He’s more in love than he ever has been, more than he ever thought himself capable of being.


	5. Grantaire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kind of exploring fanon characterization of Grantaire and mental illness. I gave him one that I feel like fits with the characterization that the fandom seems to write the most, which is, unsurprisingly, one that I share. You write what you know, right?
> 
> Maybe it's out of character, but writing more of these character studies helps me flesh out the people I am writing.

He doesn’t argue his position as the combative drunk, or the sad artist, or the depressed but profound and argumentative savant, because he likes having labels and is kind of confused about himself and what he actually is. He hasn’t really looked into it. Introspection isn’t his thing.

He paints because he likes pretty colors. He boxes because there is something visceral and human about punching people. He does fencing because he likes the art and the way it tones his body. He likes arguing with people on the Internet, and in real life (particularly Enjolras), because he gets a kick out of trolling people. Not in an abusive or bullying way, but benign pranks like leaving sticky notes that say “tortillas” all over various items in the fridge, in the kitchen, in the bathroom.

Drunken things like that. Telling jokes that don’t make sense, making comments that don’t make sense just to see if anyone pretends to understand. Telling tall tales about his exploits and exhilarating experiences in the city around them, and cities around the world. Well, they’re not _completely_ fabricated. He really did spend a few months in China studying Chinese politics, and in Germany studying theology (his German is rusty, but he can hold a conversation).

He really does speak a few other languages fluently, but pretends he doesn’t and deliberately gets grammar and words wrong in order to make people laugh. Making people laugh is good.

Saying “your horse floats good” instead of “your mother is beautiful” or “can I borrow your nose” instead of “can I borrow your pen” in Chinese.

It’s a way to hide the way he feels broken inside. He likes the flattering labels, because the one that fits him best is the one he hates the most.

When he got the diagnosis of bi-polar at age 19, he refused to believe. He just had fits of inspiration and energy, it was great, things were looking up in life, then something went wrong and he fell into depression and couldn’t get out of bed. His brain wasn’t broken or wired wrong. It was just bad luck.

Eventually, spending all the money he had in his bank account buying presents for strangers on the Internet, or staying up for 5 days straight painting and writing and drinking, feeling euphoric and unstoppable but so irritated at the same time, because other people were just getting in his way and trying to control him.

Then the crash, like all of the happiness and light in his world was sucked out over the course of a few days, but the feeling of complete emptiness and the shroud of delusion that he was worthless and a burden and terrible and everything he did was useless and he was disgusting and people _hated_ him, and how that feeling _stayed_ … the euphoria, in the end, wasn’t worth the pain of depression.

He slinked back to his doctor, terrified that she would judge him and mock him for being wrong and not believing her. She just smiled, welcomed him back, asked about his life, and didn’t mention his scoff and dismissal of her professional diagnosis. He was still scared to death of asking for help, and he didn’t really know what kind of help he needed.

“Counseling, maybe, if you’re ready. But you have to put the work in, Grantaire, you can’t just go and show up and expect the psychologist to do all the work for you and wave a magic wand and it’s all better. You have to be open and honest and confront your demons. It’s painful and difficult. But you can do it.”

Her confidence in him was jarring. He had nothing to lose. He had no pride, no life outside of drinking and self-hate and the terrible cycles of mania and knowing that eventually it would disappear and he’d slide back into a black hole again.

“Medication is also an option,” she said, more cautiously than when she suggested therapy. “It’s also something that is difficult. Finding the right medication, remaining dedicated. I’m not going to lie. People who suffer from bipolar are more likely to stop taking their medication than people with other mental illnesses.”

Grantaire really, really didn’t want to do medication. Taking medication would mean that he just wasn’t strong enough to handle it, that he was giving in and having to become dependent on pills. He voiced his thought.

She nodded thoughtfully. “It’s a common viewpoint,” she stated. “People with diabetes manage their blood sugar and take the proper precautions to keep healthy. People with cancer have surgery to remove tumors, or chemotherapy, or radiation treatment. Just because a mental illness is not visible doesn’t mean it’s not real. It’s not any different than diabetes, or kidney failure, or cancer. It’s treatable, but it’s also deadly.”

Grantaire sucked in a shuddering breath, silent for a while. His doctor sat, comfortable with the silence, waiting for her patient’s response.

“I guess… I guess I can try something,” he said quietly. Was his life really worth sacrificing for his pride? He wanted to feel normal, or as close to normal as he could get. His doctor made him feel like that might be possible.

“I’ll recommend some therapists, send you home with some pamphlets and other resources, and start you on some medication. Let’s start with lamotrigine.”

She gave the standard explanation that any doctor will give about the medication, the warnings, and gave him a starter pack to ease into a regular dosage, and a prescription for the generic because she knew he didn’t have insurance, that he was already paying an arm and a leg because health care in America isn’t free. She gave him a list of pharmacies that dispensed medications at-cost so he could actually afford it, and the list of therapists were ones that worked on a sliding scale based on income.

He held it together until he got home, and he spread his pamphlets and resources out on his coffee table, and he cried. He had a chance at being functional, at having control over his life and his labels, and that was worth more to him than anything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's kind of rambly. Some critique would be nice on this chapter. Well, any chapter. Writing style, characterization. Not really worried about the representation of mental illness, as it's something I've been struggling with for over 12 years, and everyone's struggles are different. Thanks for reading~!

**Author's Note:**

> I am on tumblr -->[here](http://mangotangerine.tumblr.com/). If you care about that sort of thing. :)


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